Ch. 5

Golden Boy's Fine.

The castle was in ruins. It's tall towers nothing but a pile of rubble, crushing everything underneath it. Downed trees, limbs of giants, and the remains of Devil's Snare surrounded the castle. Its bridges were all destroyed, some by Harry's side, others just a casualty of fighting. Even now, smoke and dust rose to the air, as if in a permanent state of destruction. Sometimes Harry would run around, trying to fix everything, trying to save at least something. But no matter how much he tried, the stone would not move, the trees would not regrow, the Snare keeps dragging everything towards it. And a disgusting coppery smell hung heavy, as if it was the natural smell of the place.

The outside of the castle had the classic look of a war, however, the inside held its true horrors. Harry tried to fight going inside. He knew what he would find in there and wanted to avoid it, wanted to pretend that it did not exist. But it did exist. It will always exist. He would delay himself, but his feet will find his way to the tall heavy oak doors that opened with the lightest touch. It was as though he was being dragged, pulled by a sadistic phantom who longs to remind him of his suffering.

It was always the same. He did not see any bodies, no, those were save last. First, he was forced to walk around the castle, see the destruction that he caused. Shattered stone and crystal balls littered the floor, the walls held portraits that were ripped and empty, some had only the minimum of paper hanging pathetically from its frame. The stone floors were all jagged, broken pieces and rubble scattered everywhere; however even as Harry was forced to walk on the rocks, on the broken stone, and crystal, and paper, and metallic corpses of the suits of armor, he made no sound. He never did. The whole castle was devoid of sound, no wind, or footsteps to echo the halls, no chatter, or moans. Everything was silent. Expect for that place. The place where Harry's trip always end.

But before that, he walked up the broken marble staircases who had steps, and sometimes whole sets of stairs missing. Again, Harry could see the destruction, see the decay of the castle as it headed towards dilapidation. Sometimes while he walked, he would see a part of the staircase floors above him fall, cracking and breaking off before falling to the ground, rushing past Harry in a silent rush until it burst on the ground in a mute explosion. Harry's thoughts drifted to a bleak wonder, figuring who it was that was inevitably crushed by the stairway. It did not matter though, as he would find out soon enough.

The Headmaster's office was always the first stop. What was once a welcoming room, full of golden, glittering instruments of unknown use, bags of muggle candy secretly stashed in drawers and wardrobes, where Fawkes the Phoenix used to sit on his stand, was now a gray, deathly place. The room was gutted, as if burned from the inside, black soot and ash mixed with melted remains of the instruments. There was no show of life; not even from the previous headmasters, whose portraits decorated the walls and now looked empty, black voids echoing the lifelessness of the once safe haven.

Harry was next forced to see Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady's portrait hung open, it's resident gone as the portrait looked as though it would fall. The Tower was gone, so all Harry stared at was the Forbidden Forest in the distance.

Harry did not spend much time at the destroyed Gryffindor Tower, as it was time to move to the Great Hall.

The doors always opened for him, and they would appear. Ghosts, apparitions, corpses hung on hooks, Harry did not know what they were, but they were all there, waiting for him, floating in the air, a foot off of the ground, waiting for him to come closer to him. The nearest one was a girl his age, her brown hair and school uniform was caked with blood, scratches and rips were everywhere. When she looked up at Harry, he could see her deformed face, open tears on her cheeks and forehead, her eyes looked gorged, as she was mauled by Fenrir Greyback. "We trusted in you," her hallow voice rang. "Won-Won would have been better off without you, Potter!"

Harry had no time to argue, or defend himself as he was forced to walk past her and onto the next of the seemingly unlimited figures, all disfigured or brutalized in some ways. Some looked crushed, others looked mauled like Brown, while others looked exactly as they looked while living, except for their eyes, which all had a dull, glossy look.

"I'm too young!" the next one said. It was a young boy with sandy-blonde hair that looked like a younger version of a man Harry knows. He looked fourteen years old, his body looked just as it did in life, except Harry could see that in his chest there was a hole. The fourteen-year-old just stared at Harry as he was forced to stop in front of him. He was not the one to find the body, Neville and Oliver did, yet Harry still felt the full impact. "This is all your fault! Why did my brother believe in you?"

"I—"

Harry was forced to move again. This time, it was a couple, staring solemnly at Harry. "We never should have made you his godfather," the woman said, her normally colorful hair looking dry and dull, a gray color that just matted her head.

"Harry… we believed in you," the man said. "You were so much like your father."

"Please stop," Harry managed to choke out. But no matter what, it was always the same words, the same people. Over and over, Harry was forced to see the deaths he caused, the deaths he could have prevented. On both sides. Death Eaters and friend alike blamed Harry, haunted Harry, asking him why they did not save him. Cedric Diggory asked him why he did not finish there; Crabbe asked him why he did not stop himself from casting the Fiendfyre; Lestrange just laughed and mocked him as he walked by; Sirius said nothing, just looked sadden, disappointed; students he did not know, witches and wizards… Snape glared down at Harry as he almost reached the staff table, his arms crossed, "Pathetic work, Potter," he said.

He was nearing the end. He knew what was coming but dreaded it. There was one last person…

He had a head of red hair, and a handsome face, so much like his brother's, except that he had both ears. His normally comedic smile was replaced by a dreary look, his eyes dull, not his normally mischievous brown eyes. This one hurt Harry the most recently. His freckled face just looked down at Harry, the young man could see where the explosion spell had hit Fred. The Weasley said no words, just stare down at Harry like Sirius, full of disappointment.

"I'm sorry," Harry choked out, but silence answered him.

Then it started. The cold, high laughter that haunted his dreams for nineteen years. Harry was forced to make his way to the staff table, where a new sight greeted him.

Instead of a table, there was a single throne, built by bones forced together, some looking smashed to pieces, while others were malformed. It was built up high, overlooking the entire Hall. The skulls, all pointed down at Harry. He counted them, and looking back at the ghosts he passed, and saw their fleshy bags, he knew where they all came from. Sitting on the horrible, monstrous chair, looking more alive than ever, was a monster whose skin was paler than the bones he sat on, his face nose-less, only slits, and burning red eyes staring down at Harry gleefully as he laughed.

"Looked at all we have done, Harry," Lord Voldemort laughed. "Look at our accomplishment!"

"No!" Harry screamed, but his voice was lost in the laughter. It began to echo, vibrating through the corpses behind him, The laughter continued, echoing off the empty walls as Voldemort glare down at Harry.

Then, as if to make matters worse, another voice rose, but Harry could not see where it came from. "Harry… all this suffering, all this lost… what we suffered, it was for the greater good. Do not pity the dead, pity the living…"

"Stop, you're wrong Dumbledore," Harry groaned. He wanted to latch onto Dumbledore's words, but the laughter just increased.

"Stop it!"

"STOP IT!"

"HARRY!"

Cold. Wet. Harry's eyes snapped open. He was in his bed, sitting up straight, his entire body was drenched in a cold sweat, his hair was pressed tightly against his forehead. He was breathing heavily. In the blurry darkness, Harry could see the shadowy figure of George. "George! George!" He gasped, reaching out for him.

"Harry, what happened?" George asked. There was light, and Harry felt his glasses brushed against his hands. "You kept screaming… are you okay?"

"Sorry," Harry said, suddenly embarrassed. How can I be so fucking stupid? "You should go back to sleep, I'm fine."

"No, you're not, you were screaming loudly," George said. "This is the first time I heard it…"

"I usually remember to put a silencing charm on my door," Harry said. "I guess I forgot this time. It's nothing you should worry about though, you should go back to sleep."

"Bullshit I am," George cursed. "I'm your friend Harry, I'm here for you." He moved to sit down, and Harry saw the light hit George's long red hair. Ever since he moved in, Harry made it a point not to even mention or look at George's hair, which reached his cheeks, knowing that there was nothing underneath it on the left side. Still, for this one moment, he just stared at it, knowing that it was his fault.

"What were you dreaming about? Tell me what you saw, Harry," George said softly.

Harry just stared up at George. "How do you not hate me?" He asked.

"Hate you?"

"Everything I've did to your family, all the trouble I've caused," Harry said, "how is it that you don't hate me?"

"Why would I ever hate you?" George asked.

"Because of your ear… of Fred…"

"Oh…" George lifted his hand and held it against his left side, where his ear was no longer. "Harry, do you think I keep my hair long because I regret losing my ear?" he asked.

"I… yeah, maybe," Harry said.

"You're wrong," George said. "I don't regret what I've done, and I'm sure Fred doesn't regret what he has done either. We did everything we could to save our family, and we would gladly do it again."

"But you lost your ear because of me! Fred died because of me!" Harry yelled. "You should be angry! If it wasn't for me, your family—Fred would still be…"

"Fred would be here yelling at you for even thinking of that," George said. "I miss him. We all do. But he did what he knew was best, what we all knew was best, fighting for you. Fighting with you."

"If it wasn't for me, there wouldn't be any fighting," Harry said miserably. "Everyone would still be living. Fred, Cedric, Remus, Tonks… even Dennis Creevey would still be alive."

"People die, that's just what we do," George sighed. "It sucks, but in the end, we all have to go. Remus, Tonks, Fred… they died protecting people they cared for. The same for Dennis, I'm certain."

"But Cedric…"

"He was murdered in cold blood, but it was not your fault Harry," George said. "Don't you dare think for a second that any of their deaths were your fault."

"But they were, in part anyway…" Harry said. "I see them, all of them, in my dreams. I'm back at Hogwarts, everything is destroyed. The smell of blood in the air and there they all are in the Great Hall… waiting for me, asking me why I did not save them. Cedric, Dennis, Remus and Tonks, Fred… even Sirius. Everyone who died, asking me over and over again. Why didn't I save them? And at the end, sitting high and laughing at me… is Voldemort."

Harry felt the bed shake a little as George jump at the name. "All their deaths… they were his fault… as well as mine."

"No, don't think like that," George said. "Come on, move over." Harry looked at George confused as the Weasley pushed Harry to one side of the bed, making room for him.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded.

"I'm sleeping with you," George said. "Now that I know you've been hiding this from me, I'm going to make sure that you're alright."

"You shouldn't bother," Harry sighed. "This always happen. I have a bad episode then it'll go away for a while before coming back. I'm used to it."

"But you shouldn't be," George said. Harry was silent, he just stared off into the distance. "Do you," George hesitated, "do you really think that I blame you for Fred's death?"

"I do," Harry said. "All their deaths are my responsibility. I have to hold onto them."

George stared at Harry for a moment, he looked down at his lap and pressed his hand against the side of his head, "They're not yours to hold," he whispered.

Harry gave a long sigh and turned his head to the partition. George watched him for a moment, then asked, "When was the last time you saw Teddy?"

"I don't know… couple of months I think," Harry said. "Not that I can face him…"

"Because of your job?"

"That… and because of…"

"You have to stop putting everyone's lives on your shoulders," George said. "When was the last time you relaxed? Without worrying about your job, or anything?" Harry was silent. George frowned. "I thought so… today's Thursday, we have to go to the Burrow tomorrow for dinner. We'll bring Teddy over and spend the day there."

"George—"

"No, no, trust me, you need this Harry," George said. "You locking yourself away like this, putting silencing charms on your doors to keep me from hearing you screaming is not healthy. Just trust me, ok?"

"I have medicine for it," Harry muttered.

"And when was the last time you took it?" George asked.

Harry was silent as he realized that he hadn't taken his daily medicine in a while. George gave a heavy sigh, "They're daily right?" Harry nodded. "Then I'll just have to make sure that you take them every morning."

Harry couldn't understand why George was doing this. He was the one who caused George's twin to die. He was the one who tore the Weasley family apart. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I care about you Harry, we all do," George said. He waved his wand and the light went out. "Come on, we should sleep for tomorrow," he said before getting comfortable in Harry's bed.

Still feeling guilty, Harry laid down, but did not go to sleep. He just stared at the ceiling, listening to George's soft snores as his mind wandered back to his dream. It wasn't that easy. He could not just have one talk and all his problems go away. His guilt was rooted deep inside him, having two years to latch its tendrils into his heart. George meant good, Harry knew that, but he also knew that George could never understand him, he would never be able to uproot Harry's guilt, his depression. George lost his brother, true, but Harry lost so much more…

Feeling restless, Harry made sure that George was fully asleep before slipping out of bed. He moved to his partition, now looking black in the darkness, and silently slid it open. The only light in Harry's work space was the moonlight that filtered in through the window. He did not know what he was doing, he just wanted to be away from George. He looked at his computer, and his growing collection of sex toys and sighed.

He moved to the ground and rested on the floor. Surrounded by cocks, he thought bitterly, perfect place for a depressed slut to sleep. Thinking horribly about himself, Harry took off his glasses, and fell into an uncomfortable, dreamless sleep.